The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1887-09-11
CHAPTER w.

CHAPTER ".
Thirty years ago there stood in the most
| dismal part of Venice an old stone building.
1t was tail and grin-looking, and blackened
by age and damp Its upper balcony, to
which you assembled by steps irregularly
winding from the ground at the waters
edge, Jutted out over the street, giving it a
gloomy and threatening aspect, like some
Mucous, black monster brooding over the
dark lagoon. In this house the greater
part OF my childhood was passed. My
| father, James HARDWOOD, was student and
a lover of art, though himself no artist He
was writer of more than ordinary ability,
and man of profound and varied learn
ing, but of peculiar temper and proud, un-
bending will. My mother was Venetian
| She had the rich Italian beauty and the
warm, loving nature of the South. She
loved my father fervently. | do not re-
member ever to have heard her say so, or
to have seen her show her love to him 1t
was when she sat alone in her lofty cham
Der, III the gloomy house, while he wrote in
| his study; when she foated down the shad-
owy streets, with her two children by her
side, while he paced the moonlit piazza with
his head in the clouds; when she came to our
| bedside at night, and, kneeling with US,
| prayed for our father-and never without
tears-while he was out dining with his
friends; when she listened patiently to i'm
patient words, with look of dumb pain in
her soft eyes. At such times my child
heart told me that she loved him-and that
she was unhappy. | was afraid of my
father and thought she was. l was proud
| OF him, too, but | seldom spoke in his pres
ence. There was but one of us who knew
the key to his affections; the only being to
whom he was loving and gentle-ny
mothers namesake, our Olive. | remem-
Der the fragile lily-face, with its sad gray
eyes, and abundant dark hair. She fell
| down the dark steps into the water one day,
and the lifeless form was laid on our own
| little bed, nevermore to fit through the 81
lent rooms! Then my father forgot his
books. His grief was terrible, but he put
us away from him and bore it alone. l
| have often wondered who suffered more
he, in his proud isolation, scorning sympa-
| thy, or she, my patient mother, yearning
| for it with ali the strength of her stricken
| heart, yet knowing she would never receive
| it from him. Mine was a strange and
| lonely life for child, and yet a kind of
charmed life too. | was always delicate.
and often could not leave the house for
weeks. On bright days when the pain was
very bad they would draw my couch to the
window Of my mothers room that look ed
out on the sea rolling at the foot of the
stone stairs; on the grand old palace lifting
Its proud head In the distance against the
blue sky; on the tall ships resting on the
bosom of the shining Adriatic; on glittering
church spires pointing heavenward
could see the sunlight dancing on the
waves, could hear the ripple of the water as
the little boats glided past the window, and
fragments of boat-songs, and shouts of gay
laughter tioated up to my ears Within the
room were books and pictures and play
| things. AT my side was my sweet mother
But a shadow hung over the dark old
dwelling. Nothing could make it cheerful,
in my eyes. Like wild bird that beats its
head against the bars of its gilded cage, |
fretted and pined for the free air, and water
and sunshinel
But there were glorious days when the
whole wonderful city was my own When
we skinned over the sparkling waters
past gardens that looked like FARMLAND
past shrines and terraces, and bridges and
churches, and picturesque women, and lazy
men asleep on marble steps in the sunshine,
with the water tapping their feet.
And the pictures in the churches How
wonderful they seemed in my childish eyes
Though did not always like the ones my
mother said were the best She was the
patient unwearying companion of all my
pleasure. She would never let me go out
alone after Olive died. For | missed my
my mothers arms; and nestled closer as /
listened to the plash of the water below
the ugly, black water that had swallowed
our darling. 1t always made me shudder
at night. 1t was one of my fancies that
Olives voice spoke to us in its lonely muir
muir. | was not a loveable child. Ny
mother and the servants gratified nay every
whim, and spoiled me. l was willful and
passionate, but not unloving, except to my
faith lie ind nv tive
pride. Irequited his GOODNESS with cold
ness. I heard him say one day to his
friend for whom | was named:
1.-THE boy has NO feeling. He has mind
and will By heaven! and temper too; but
he has no love for any one except his
mother, and that is entirely selfish. He is
totally unlike my lovely Olive"
Could he have seen "the boyn half hour
later sitting in an old church where there
was picture of st. Peter, whose strong,
rugged features looked like the father he
loved in spite of his harshnessl Could he
have seen the sad little 6gnre crouched be
fore the high altar and shaken with sobs!
the young heart swelling with such cruel
pain as childhood ought never to know!
We left Venice after Olive died, and
Travelled for two years. One summer we
spent in Switzerland But my father was
strangely restless away from the place he
loved to call home. | afterward learned
the secret of its terrible fascination for
him. He made frequent lonely visits far
up into the mountains, and my mother and
| were left to ourselves. That summer in
the little Swiss village is the happiest recol-
lection of my early childhood. The
healthy, sun-browned mountain children
came to play with me, and brought me
flowers and fruit. They must have pitied
me very much. climbed the mountains
with them to the music of the roaring
waterfalls, and drank such bewildering
draughts Of the pure, sweet air that grew
strong and well. 1t made my mother very
happy
"You are growing so strong, Jeffrey, my
darling, and 10 handsome that your father
will not know you when he comes, she
said 10 me once.
.'Why do you speak 10 me Of himp Isaid,
fretfully "He won't carel You know he
never cares about me-"
~ am sure he does You do not under
stand your father He has "A kind heart,
butn-she broke of and looked steadily
away from me, but saw tbs two tears that
fell on her hands.
How could she justify rs harshness 70 his